The Uprising: Project Hyperion
by ClusiveC
Summary: Months after the end of World War III, moves have been made to spark up another major conflict. Spearheaded by the ambitious from all areas of the globe, Hyperion has begun it's deadly mission - to bring the world to rights. They are a hidden army that has been waging war on the world for months. Caught up into this storm is Ramirez. I do not own Call of Duty.
1. Chapter I - Beginning

**_Project Hyperion_**

**_Chapter I _**

September 15 - South Khorasan, Iran

I'd lost track of time. We'd been missing for at least 2 days. Which was bad. Because by now, we could be anywhere in the Middle East or West Asia. Ever since they captured us, we've been on the move from location to location. Which was unusual. Strange. Whatever they wanted us for, it wasn't for any kind of ransom. We've traveled too far for that. That's what made me uneasy. No idea what kind of trouble I'm in. I decided to give up on analyzing. My head hurt too much for it.

They'd thrown us into some kind of holding cell and it felt as if they'd forgotten about us - I can't tell how long we've been sitting here. It was completely black inside, with no light at all. My back was killing me from leaning against a stone wall. I could feel dried blood on my forehead. Who ever these people were, they were better than the average. Whatever the 'average' was. All of our gear was gone - destroyed back when they first caught us. They'd forced us to put on plain white shirts and baggy jeans. Someone had cut most of my hair off, too, using a knife. Pain was an understatement. I didn't know how many of them there were, or what they looked like because we'd had black rags wrapped around our head to cover our eyes all the way up to this point. Doing this had pretty much ended any chance of trying to find a way to escape. Plus, I'd already felt around the pitch black room for anything, but found nothing but stone floor and wall.

So for the time being, we were stuck. Just the two of us.

"'The fuck do they want with us?"

I thought he'd managed to get to sleep. It was my first time hearing his voice since we'd been in the room. It was a good question, but I didn't answer him. I felt too weak to speak, and I didn't have an answer anyway. Speculating wouldn't get us anywhere. There was simply no way to figure out all of the questions that we had. My head hurt too much for it.

There was movement outside the door, and it made me sit up straighter. I could hear the sound of footsteps. More than one person. Heading straight towards our direction. No voices. They were coming to move us, I realized. Had to be.

"Shit, here they come!" He whispered. I nodded, even though he couldn't see me nod.

The door opened and I had to shield my eyes from the blinding light that flooded the room. I squinted and tried to make out the figures standing in the doorway, but I couldn't. My eyes hadn't adjusted.

"The one on the right is the one that we came for." One of the figures said. The voice was light, female, and had a foreign accent. Spoke first. Commanding voice. So I assumed that she had a higher position than the other people with her. She was in charge of them. But for all I knew, someone that wasn't here could be in charge of _her_.

My eyes were finally adjusting, and I could see three people step inside the room. They were going to be handling one of us, and they had heavier builds, so I reasonably assumed that they were male. About 600 pounds of human, altogether. And they snapped quickly to the order. My hands weren't bounded, but it would be foolish to try and make a move against these three guys.

They moved past me and grabbed the one on the right, instead.

They hauled him up to his feet and shoved him out the door. He was too weak to put up any resistance. The door shut behind them, and I was left alone in black silence. In and out, just like that.

There was at least four of them in total. Three dirty workers and one leader. A team of four. That's what it looked like so far. None of them had been carrying weapons, but I knew for a fact that they had at least one. Because that was how we got captured in the first place. I thought about what the lady said. They had some kind of plan up their sleeve, that was obvious. But whatever they were planning to do, it only required one of us. But it required a specific one of us, rather than just randomly choosing between the two of us. Because she'd said "The one on the right is the one we came for." Maybe they chose him because his rank is higher than mine. They could've seen our ranks on our gear.

I stopped thinking about it. My head hurt too much for it. I just hoped that they didn't do something extreme. And then I fell back against the wall and fell asleep for the first time in days...

...And then I woke back up in what felt like a few minutes later. Someone was standing over me, and I immediately became alert.

"Get up." Another foreign accent. It sounded Russian.

Three men, the same ones who came earlier, stood me up and gave me a shove in the back. I stumbled and almost fell. Hours and hours without standing at all. My legs were weakened. Standing outside of the room was a lady, the same one from earlier I assumed. One guy on the left side held my left arm, and the guy on the right side gripped my right arm. The third guy was standing behind me. A smart enough move. It would be futile to try anything when there's at least one guy that I can't factor into any plan I can think of. He was behind me somewhere. The lady was in front of me, and she signaled for us to follow her. They half-carried me down a long narrow hall for a few minutes before I felt the cold steel of a barrel stick me in the back of the head. "Walk, or die. Your choice." The barrel wasn't quivering at all on my skull. The guy had a controlled gun hand. Which suggested some real experience. He was ready to shoot. So I willed my legs to hold my weight up. It burned to walk and my upper-body felt sore, like I'd been working out all day yesterday. The barrel left my head.

That pretty much sealed the deal on any hope of trying to maneuver my way out of this situation. Logically, it would make sense to assume that the guy behind me still had a gun trained on my back. It would be physically impossible to wrench myself free and avoid being blasted in the back. Plus, his grip on the gun suggested that he was a veteran in this stuff. He wouldn't miss. So we continued down a stretch of hall for a long time. The woman was dressed in desert fatigues with boots, and her hair was cut short, like a buzz-cut. The same set up for the men that were hauling me violently behind her. There weren't any insignias or any adornments to her uniform from what I could see. She had a commanding stride.

There was a doorway on the right side of the hall that we went into. The woman led us in. The first and only thing that I saw was a chair that sat bolted to the floor. She signaled for them to place me into the seat. As they shoved me into the chair, I took a quick look around the room. There wasn't anything to see. Nothing inside the room to give any hint as to who these people were, or what their agenda was. Just a chair in a blank room. I couldn't see the doorway from where I sat. Two of the guys gripped my wrists and locked them with the legs of the chair. There was no way I was going to break the chains - the chair legs were bolted down.

The lady signaled for the men to leave the room.

"I hope you'll be more cooperative than your friend, American." She said, looking me in the eyes. Her accent was definitely Russian. She was shorter than me, I knew, but she carried herself dominantly. With authority.

"Where is he?" I demanded, my voice rough from being unused for so long.

"I am the one asking the questions here. Your friend is suffering badly now, but if you don't cooperate, I'll be forced to dismember him. A limb for every time you disappoint me. Are we clear?"

"What did you _do to him!?" _I was getting angrier by the second, and my wrists strained against the cuffs. She ignored my question this time, stepping closer to me and kneeling down to get right in my face.

"You should know something, _James_. If you don't do what I tell you to, then I will saw off the Corporal's arm. First his right one, then his left one. Then his left leg, and then his right leg. You have a choice to make, little Private. I am clear on this, no?"

I immediately felt torn. She knew my name by taking my dogtags, but I couldn't tell if she was lying about her intentions. It sure as hell didn't seem like it, and I had no way of being sure. I had no choice but to go along with her. This was unexpected. I couldn't let them do that to Dunn. I just couldn't. It would be illogical to think she was bluffing. And there was no way that I could fail a brother like Dunn. But I had no idea what these people wanted with me. I wanted to spit in her face. But the option to turn down this offer would spell doom for Dunn. Torture. His family would never be able to get over it. And it would be my fault for letting him down.

I looked into her eyes. They were grey, and I could tell that she was searching my face for an answer. I nodded.

"Very well. You are going to help us out with a little problem we have."

Inside, I felt my gut wrench.

"A shipment of highly valuable weapons are being carried across the Iran-Pakistan border. It is highly advanced equipment that is being sold illegally to an arms dealer in Tehran. The supplier is Great Britain. I believe your two countries have friendly relations, yes? You are going to help us steal this shipment. If you choose not to, then Dunn will miss his left arm that he's lived with for _so_ long. Your comrade is counting on you, James."

_Shit. _She glanced down at a watch on her wrist, and said something in a language that I didn't understand. I guessed it was Russian.

"Time to go, Private. Try anything foolish and we execute Corporal Dunn."

She stood up and took a step back, and then said something else that I didn't understand. I heard footsteps behind me as the men from earlier stepped into the room.

"Oh, and before you leave, I should mention that the shipment security forces are comprised of Royal Marines and a small force of SAS troops. Your skill is enough to handle these men, yes?"

* * *

We were moving in using a 4-door Sedan painted all white, with no faults in it at all. It had the new-car smell to it, too. The seats were perfect. No squealing in the brakes. All lights, including signalers, were in working order. The guy driving had a single penny sitting in the dashboard. Pennies gave you a simple way to swap out tags on the back of a car. We'd already stopped twice. Both times, the driver had swapped tags. I pegged him as a Pro-Am. Smart enough to be cautious enough to switch tags, but not smart enough to understand the rules of that kind of stuff. Twice was overkill in the small amount of time that we'd been driving. Plus, this car was brand-new. Probably bought specifically for this job. It was as anonymous as any car could get. There was no need to swap tags, especially since we hadn't done anything that would cause immediate need for us to do so. Or, maybe he was just a cautious guy. Which was why he had me sitting in the passenger seat. Smart enough move. Why would you put a guy, a guy that you don't trust, behind your back with a gun?

It put me in a position where trying something stupid would be futile. A movie would have you thinking that a single guy could maneuver his way out of situations like this with some bullshit move. That wasn't going to happen. A bullet would hit me in the back of the head before I had a chance to do something that would _never _work, like trying to get the driver to crash the car.

Not that I was thinking about being stupid anyway. The lady that was calling the shots was monitoring our progress. She made it pretty clear that if I attempted some kind of Rambo move, Dunn was as good as dead. I didn't even know where their hideout was located. Before we left, I was forced to wear a blindfold until we got about 25 minutes away from the place. So if I did manage to get free of these guys, there was no way that I would find Dunn and rescue him, even if he hadn't been executed already. One thing I knew for sure was that these people were the real-deal. Way above your average terrorist warrior, and well past being average mercenaries. Their stockpile of gear was somewhat impressive.

All four of us inside the car had standard-issue US Marine Corps MTV ballistic vests on, with E-SAPI plates to go along with it. MTVs weren't exactly favored by most of the grunts in the USMC. It was bulkier, heavier, and in reality not much of an improvement over the IBAs that'd been in use previously. I had to agree with them. It's not what they give us, but it will have to do for this job. I didn't want to think of how this group of people managed to get this stuff. We were geared down. Fortunately, the windows to the car were reasonably tinted, for an obvious reason. We were better off without people raising questions as to why armored military guys were driving around town.

The weapons they had were what anybody would expect. Nothing that was exactly top of the line, but could be relied on. What stuck out the most to me was the absence of _Avtomat Kalashnikova_. I expected them to hand me something of Russian make, judging by all of their accents. Instead, I was equipped with an IAR, which was another piece of US Marine equipment. It didn't fit with my rifleman qualification, because the M27 IAR is a squad automatic weapon. Newly built to eventually replace the M249 LMG. I felt ohkay to handle it. I'd heard a lot about this weapon. Designed to basically help out with maneuverability and speed of displacement.

What I didn't feel ohkay about was the mission itself. I didn't know why the UK were doing illegal arms sales in this part of the world. Maybe the woman had lied about that. What bugged me the most was that we were going to have to face British troops. Before the day is over, I'm going to have to kill a close ally. We served with some British troops when we went on the offensive during WWIII. I respected them. They were well-trained, well-organized, and highly skilled. We fought and bled alongside them. Now I was going to turn the barrel on their backs and squeeze the trigger.

The job was simple on paper. We would let out the two guys in the backseat a few blocks ahead of the convoy. While they got into position, me and the driver, whose callsign was Gorilla, would swing around the back side of the convoy. The first two guys would open fire on the lead vehicle, effectively halting the convoy in it's tracks, because you can't drive through a roadblock. While the attention was focused in that direction, Gorilla and I would hop out of the car and get to work on the rear of the British troops. They would be ambushed and sandwiched. By the time we get to the truck that carried the package, the fight would be over by then, in theory. Gorilla would take the truck, and the rest of us would hop inside one of the convoy cars, and the mission would be success.

"Ohkay, turn your radios on. It is almost time to start."

I tapped a button on my earpiece and then slipped on a baseball cap. Traffic was beginning to die down. Buildings seemed to roll into one another. Sidewalks were starting to be stripped free of pedestrians. The hour was getting late. It wasn't night time, but it was getting close. Traffic lights seemed to glow brighter. We were driving down a long one-way street, filled with stop signs and drugstores and kids running and screaming and playing and clothes lines stretching from building to building. The air was stifling. Death was coming.

Gorilla made a right turn at one of the stop signs. It was a back road with no traffic on it at all. I also didn't see any civilians. This part of the city was strangely dead, compared to the other places we'd been. He drove down the street some and stopped beneath a light pole.

Gorilla looked into the back seat. "You know what we came here to do. When I give the order, you will fire the first shots and history will be made. The option of failure is not here. We do this right or we die. Good luck, comrades."

The two guys in the backseat said something in Russian and got out of the car. They jogged around the front of the Sedan and crossed over to the left side of the street. We waited and watched them until they entered into an alleyway, out of sight.

"Ohkay American. I trust that you are handy with weapon and battle instinct. We do this right and your comrade will not die today. Screw up, and you both die."

With that, Gorilla sped down the street for a few blocks and made a left turn. He was noticeably driving faster now. We were operating within a window now, and we had to maintain the timeline. I'd already thought about what he said hours ago, about me dying. If that happened, then my body may conveniently show up at the crime scene, and I just may be recognized as an American soldier. There was no telling what kind of strain that would put on the relations between my country and the UK. And Dunn would be killed. I was going to have to be efficient against these British troops who were highly skilled.

The street that we drove down had several lanes, but pretty much resembled the one-way street that we road down earlier. Except it was a little less active. No kids on this street. I looked out the windows and wondered how in the hell I had gotten myself in such a situation. Foley probably already had been given replacements by now. They would call off the search after a certain amount of time, like they usually did. They would list me as MIA and notify my sister and mother. Mom already had heart problems. This would hurt her more than anything if she received news like this. I wasn't close to her, but I was still her son. She would think about all of those times how she tried to talk me out of enlisting.

Damn.

I spotted the small 'convoy' down the road, crossing the street that we were on. Gorilla slowed down and drove as casually as you can get. Then we turned down the street that the convoy was on. So far so good. We were directly behind the 5 vehicles. Two SUVs in the back, two in the front, and an armored truck that resembled a larger version of a U-Haul was square in the middle. Without a doubt, the men inside those SUVs had their eyes on us. Just in case. It was all about being 'Just in case'. But that cut our time shorter. The longer we stayed behind them, the more unorthodox we became.

"Ape, Monkey, are you two in position?" I heard Gorilla's voice in my earpiece and right next to me. A second later came a reply.

"Affirmative. Are you and Chimp behind them yet?

"We are. Let's keep this flow going steady. Remember to watch your fire. Friendly fire isn't as friendly as they say it is." He reminded them. "Prepare to execute."

I rechecked my weapon for the 4th time. Personally, I didn't like to use a weapon unless I knew it to be reliable. In this situation, I didn't have much of a choice. Plus, the M27 wasn't perfectly ideal for a CQB engagement. But then again, I didn't have much of a choice. The absolute professional will check his equipment, and then double check it, and then check it again, and again. Quad-checking. A trick I picked up during the New York City campaign. The Russians were some of the best-trained troops in the world, and you couldn't afford to be surprised when it came to them. I almost died from a weapon malfunction in the middle of a fight one time.

I removed my hat, put on a ski mask, and then slipped the hat back on. I now realized that this was my first time being in combat since World War III. There wasn't any time to think about what was coming up. A man has to do what a man has to do.

"Do this and save your comrade, Chimp. Or die." Gorilla said to me.

A crackle of gunfire split the silence.


	2. Chapter II

**_Project Hyperion_**

**_Chapter II _**

Years ago in Yekaterinburg, Russia

Leonid Petrenkov grew up in a small home with 3 siblings and a single mother. Life had never been easy for them. Food prepared at the dinner table was like finding gold. Being the oldest of his siblings, Leonid had learned early on about the trials and tribulations of life. Responsibility had become a necessity for him when he was barely eleven. Harsh was the life that he had. His younger sisters were too little to understand the goings on around the house. Mother had begun to rely on him to do nearly all of the chores around the house, as she worked all of the day for little pay. Struggle was the definition of her existence, and pity was the definition of their family. Leonid spent his nights on the hard floor, as his sisters all shared the small bed, reading books that he'd gotten from school and the library. He was almost addicted to knowledge. Knowing had become a way of life for him, to help pass the time. He simply _had _to know the insides and outs of everything. Because of this, his grades in school soared.

However, Leonid was a survivor by nature, and in the jungle, only the strongest survive. His days, outside of school, were spent being a no-gooder in the eyes of society. He stole food and water and money, and gambled often to keep some change in his pocket - if he lost the game, then he would sometimes force the other kids to give him their money, resorting to violence. This gave him a reputation in the streets. Often times, older kids in groups would catch him alone and attack him. Sometimes, he held them off. Other times, he went home looking as if he'd fought a tiger and lost. Financial strain stripped away the option for him to receive any medical attention when this happened, as his mother didn't have the funds to pay for treatment. But to Leonid, it was worth it. It was worth having extra food for him and his sister, and clothes stolen from other kids.

The aspiring scholar was also an aspiring criminal. An anti-hero in his story.

But he managed to stay afloat. He entered high school and became an outcast. He didn't care about the other kids at school. He only cared about getting home. But, as Leonid was an aspiring scholar on one side of the coin, he often times had teachers bragging about him, sometimes in front of other students. This was a high school that Leonid was in. There were some guys that frowned on this - that frowned on young Petrenkov. He fought against his bullies, because Leonid was a survivor by nature. After many trips to the school clinic, the bullies backed up off of him. They were tired of getting beat around.

Leonid was a young man. All of his high school career, he never cared much for other students, but he was still a young man. It was during his senior year that he first laid eyes on Liliya. She was the most beautiful thing that he'd ever seen in his life. His heart rate accelerated whenever he was in her presence. Leonid rarely talked to others at school, and wasn't good at social situations. Few things ever scared him, but Leonid was very afraid to approach her and speak. He thought about her all the time. Liliya was very unique to him. She was a true individual. He loved everything about her, from the sound of her voice to the way that she walked. Even watching her eat had become something that Leonid did, and he thought that it was strange and unusual to be able to stand to see someone eat, but didn't care. It was during the end of his senior year that he finally decided to say something to her.

Leonid sucked some air into his chest and lifted his chin up. He cared a lot about his hygiene, but he wasn't much for caring about his appearance - usually, all that mattered to him was that he had a shirt and pants and shoes on. But this day he'd taken great care to look very presentable and decent. A movie was on in the class, so Leonid decided to walk over to where she was sitting and take a seat. He turned to her and began to speak, but she was looking at him with a smile on her face. He'd never felt like this before, with her gaze on him and a smile on her face. He froze for a second, and then finally managed to say hello.

They talked. It felt natural. Leonid wanted to listen to her all day, but he was careful to keep the conversation balanced.

The day ended too soon, and Leonid said goodbye to her. It was the best day of his entire worthless existence.

Leonid had decided to join the military right after school. He enlisted and joined the Russian Airborne Troops, where he was later placed into the 45th Detached Reconnaissance Regiment. A week prior to leaving for training, Leonid saw Liliya at the library in their city. His passion for reading carried him into the library that day. She recognized him, and they talked for a little while, and then Liliya's boyfriend showed up. He'd known that she was in a relationship, but it still hurt him to see the both of them together. He blamed himself for being too foolish to speak to her earlier on. Time had run out. He knew that he would never have a life with her. He felt that he wasn't deserving of it, either. Leonid understood the many crimes that he'd committed in his life, and that one day he would have to pay for it. He would always be in love with Liliya, and because of this, he would suffer for the rest of his life.

Before they left the library, Leonid told her that he was going into military service. She wished him good luck, and then unexpectedly, she gave him a hug. That was the last day Leonid ever saw her. He hasn't seen her since. He hasn't ever talked about her to anyone. That was a moment of life that he always kept to himself. That was eight years ago. With the current job at hand, Leonid might not ever see anyone from back home again.

He and the American could be seconds away from being slaughtered by the British troops currently. And the only thing on his mind right now was Liliya. She was his driving force. His allegiance put him in a position where he was enemy to the world, and he felt that he had a righteous cause to back him up, but the only thing that drove him on was Liliya. In some fantasy that he'd imagined, Leonid, or Gorilla, would be able to live somewhere far away from the turmoil of the earth with Liliya. It would be a life worth living, instead of the horrible one that he was in. It would be like Heaven on earth almost. But deep down, Leonid knew that it wouldn't happen. Another man would be the one to live the fantasy that Leonid had dreamed up. The only destiny that Leonid was headed to was one filled with death. And then he would die, and it would all be over.

* * *

_September 12, Current year_

Azuma Ishikawa sat cross-legged in front of a large tower of stacked dice. His brows were tipped downward, his face filled with concentration. To a spectator, it would seem as if he were solely focused on the leaning tower that stood before him. But in reality, Azuma's mind was filled with thoughts of something of more import. Reaching off to his right side, Azuma carefully picked up a single die and sat it snugly on the top of the tower. A smile crossed his face briefly.

_Yes, the pieces were all fitting together, perfectly._

The tiny room that he was perched inside of was crafted with extreme indifference to any special design techniques. It was like being on the inside of a hollow cube, like being inside a jail cell almost. There was nothing of note, save for the masterly skilled placing of the dice, and a large blank puzzle set that was completed. It was these exact qualities that Azuma found especially attractive. He liked for things to be simple, to the point of being extreme. A simple hair cut, a simple set of clothing, a simple set of dice, and a simple puzzle that was blank.

None of this had any importance, or any hidden message. These items didn't help him think better. It was simply in Azuma's nature to do things for no reason, or simply because he felt like doing it.

So he'd ordered a box of over 100 dice, all with blank faces, and a puzzle set that had over 1000 pieces to it, which was completely blank. Both of which were simple pass times. Yes, he'd done this for no particular reason.

However, it was reasoning, both deductive and inductive, that plagued his mind for the moment. If the carefully planned course that he'd carefully crafted kept it's path, then victory would find it's way. But he had to monitor the situation carefully. This was proving to be more and more challenging, as his ghost organization grew larger and larger. Yet, fortune found it's way to Azuma, intellectually. Processing overwhelming information at a moment's notice was second nature to him. His strategy was true and sure, and he felt confident that before too long, his major move would be a success. If something went haywire in his maneuvers, then Azuma would simply resort to one of his contingency plans. He'd created more than a hundred of these contingencies, each to take effect if a specific event happened to alter his original plan.

Yes, his strategy was true and sure, and fool-proof.

The door to his blank room was knocked on, four times to be exact, with a one-second interval inbetween each knock. His back was to this door, but Azuma knew who was behind it. There were only two people who knew of his current location - himself, and a trusted ally.

"Please come in, Mr. West." Azuma said.

The door opened, and Azuma counted half a second before West stepped inside, and counted another half second before the door shut behind him. Noticing these small details were subconscious to Ishikawa.

"We have a problem." West spoke to Azuma's back.

"Such as?"

"Our little trick in Iran was picked up on by an outside source. The message that we sent to the ground team was intercepted. But I don't think they have it decoded. They don't show any signs of the knowledge."

"Are they still doing the shipment from the same location to the same location?"

"Yes. Our scouts haven't picked up any change in the supplier's behavior."

"Then they know what we're up to. We'll continue as planned." Azuma said, picking up another die off of the floor.

West was dressed in a crisp business suit, with shiny shoes, and a tight haircut, and a clean-shaven face, and a tie that was tied properly. It was his way of things to naturally appear his best whenever he is out on business. It was also West's way of things to shift slightly on his feet whenever he felt confusion, whether it be partial or extreme. West shifted on his feet.

"How can you be so sure that they know? And why would we still go through with it?"

Azuma was sure that they knew about the raid that was about to take place. They knew that an attack was coming to their shipment. What they didn't know was that Azuma knew this. There was no way that they could be 100% sure that Azuma knew that they'd intercepted the message. Which put them in a critical position. If they suddenly decided to call off the shipment, then that would be a dead giveaway that they knew something. So the other best route to take would be to bait Azuma's men into a trap, by falsely appearing naïve. Kill or capture his men, ask them questions, and find out what they wanted to know. Yes, Azuma knew their game plan.

The only problem was that it compromised _his_ game plan. If he called off the hit, then the supplier would give a valuable package to a certain customer. And that certain customer was untouchable by Azuma at the moment. This was bad, because in exchange for the valuable package, the certain customer would give the supplier some crucial details that would jeopardize Azuma's entire project.

A smart man uses all valuable assets, uses everything to his advantage, uses every trick in the book. And Azuma was a smart man. He'd crafted a contingency plan should this problem arise.

"The American military unit is still in the area, correct?" He asked West.

"They are for the moment." West said, leaning against the wall now, crossing his arms.

"Then you know what we need the ground team to do."

"Yes. I'll notify them ASAP."

"Thank you, West. For everything. Please be sure to let them know that they must capture more than one. Five would be all that they need."

"Sounds good to me. I'll call you when everything is set." West told him. And with that, he opened the door. It took him a half second to step through the door, and a half second to shut the door behind him, Azuma noted.

He was mad. He was mad, but he wasn't out-maneuvered. But still, he was mad. Going with Secondary Plan #37 was very high-risk. But it was their only shot. There was simply no way that three people could take down that shipment, single handedly. Especially since the enemy knew that they were coming.

Yes, Azuma was unpleased. He lifted the die that he'd picked up earlier and placed it on top of the tower. His placement was off by a fraction, and the leaning tower of dice crumbled to the floor in a messy heap.


	3. Chapter III

_trying to introduce all the main characters..._

**_Project Hyperion_**

**_Chapter III_**

Derek "Frost" Westbrook had caught a round in his leg during World War 3. The doctors, the nurses, the Army medics, none of them could fully repair him in time for the war's end. The Army had sidelined him until he recovered 100 percent. This was against Derek's wishes, but orders were orders. So Derek had no choice but to lay low, until his left leg was back to green. Time couldn't go by any slower for him. He'd hated being out of the action, because action was his life. The war was going on without him. His brothers in Metal were out in the fray, while he was sitting at home, doing nothing but waiting.

As much as he hated it, this was the reason why Derek hadn't participated in the raid to rescue the Russian president.

The news hadn't really shocked Derek. He hadn't expected his team to be completely KIA, but it still hadn't surprised him somehow. He didn't shed any tears. He just felt an extreme internal sorrow. Hollow on the inside was a way to describe it. It'd emptied him entirely. What hurt him more than their deaths, however, was the fact that he was still alive. Derek _hated _that his brothers died fighting, while he was still alive, wasting time because of a leg wound. He couldn't understand why he was breathing and they weren't. He should have died out there, fighting for his country, instead of being stuck inside of it. Derek shouldered the blame for their deaths, and he still does.

He'd gotten in a careless manner after that. The war ended without him ever fighting in it again. He didn't give a shit about Army, or anything like that anymore. He'd went AWOL several times. His service record had dropped considerably after the war's end. Instead of getting reassigned to another unit after recovering, the Army sent him to Ft. Benning, Georgia. Doing nothing but waiting for the rest of his enlistment term. Derek left the military behind as soon as he got the chance, and spent the next 2 years homeless.

Derek wandered across the country for months, going nowhere in particular. He had nowhere to go. His travels had brought him from Georgia, all the way to Nevada, and as north as Washington state. His time was spent hitching rides, catching buses, and walking. At nights, he would sleep in cheap motels or find a place on the ground to sleep, like he'd done so many times in the military. The only things he owned were his clothes, shoes, a toothbrush, a couple of cards, a Silver Star, and a heavy burden for the deaths of his squadmates. He would buy a shirt and jeans every day, as cheap as he could find them. He didn't care anymore. Derek had turned into a complete loner.

Derek had won plenty of medals, ribbons, and other decorations while in the military. He'd even gotten the Silver Star for the mission to rescue Alena Vorshevsky, even though they'd failed. Derek never talked to others about his days in the military. There were some things that he simply didn't want to talk about, and there were some things that he _couldn't _talk about, even if he wanted to. Derek didn't know where any of those decorations he'd won were now. He'd given them to strangers at random places and random times. The only one he kept was the Silver Star, as a reminder of the last time he fought alongside Metal, and the last time he'd been in combat.

This is where we find the current Derek "Frost" Westbrook, 2 years after the end of World War III. Sitting inside a small diner somewhere in Wyoming.

* * *

Derek was sitting in a table at the far right side of the little mini-restaurant, where he could see everything inside. There weren't many people eating at this place. An older couple was seated near the front entrance. Another couple, much younger, was sitting against the wall, sharing a plate full of food. And there was one more person sitting by himself, on the far right side of the diner. That person was Derek. He was waiting on his food, wasting time by watching cars zip by through the windows. _Wish I was in one of those__, _Derek was thinking.

The waitress emerged from the back, carrying a plate of food and a cup of lemonade. She brought it to his table and Derek couldn't wait to dig in, even though he was expecting the food to be a major disappointment to his taste buds. He'd gone almost a day without eating anything.

"Sorry it took so long. You kinda ordered a lot."

"I'm just ready to eat. Thank you." Derek said, ripping the paper from his straw. He was as thirsty as he was hungry, and lemonade was the best thing ever to him.

"Hey, so where are you from anyway? I've never seen you around here before."

Derek hadn't even realized she was still standing there. He'd been getting ready to take a bite out of his cheeseburger.

"You probably just don't remember me. Now thank you again for the food."

"No, I'm pretty sure I'd remember you. I know I would." _Damn it to hell, why doesn't she let me eat already? Shit._

"Alright, whatever you say. I'm just trying to enjoy my food, thank you."

She pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and took a seat. She was looking him in the eyes, waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, she decided to repeat her question.

"So tell me, where you coming from?"

"Nowhere. I've just been going from place to place." Derek lifted his burger and got ready to take a bite. She asked another question before he could.

"So where all have you been?"

_Fuck it, _Derek thought, and started eating. He hoped she would get up and go back to work or something. He took his time, savoring the food as much as he could. As he expected, the food wasn't great, but it wasn't too shabby either. Derek figured he could've done better if he had the supplies. The cook needed some more practice though. But he'd figured that the food wouldn't be anything special. Most of the time, you get what you pay for. And he'd paid a cheap price for this quick-stop food. When he realized that the waitress was still sitting across from him, he wiped his mouth and answered her question.

"Went to some places in the 'States, went overseas for a while, came back and went to New York, then Germany, and then France, and then I went back to Germany, and after all that I came back to the 'States. Been all over the Continental U.S. since then."

She leaned into the table, clearly becoming very interested in what he had to say. This was when Derek first examined her appearance. She was maybe in her late twenties. She was actually not that bad. Derek had seen better and worse. But he had to admit that he'd seen far more worse, and few better. But he didn't care. He was planning on being in California within the next week. One more night spent in this place, and then he'd be on his way.

"What were you doing over there? In Germany and France, I mean."

Derek shrugged. "I was working."

"What was your job?"

"Shoot first, no questions asked at all. Something like that."

She gave him a weird look, as if she was trying to read something written across his face. And then she realized what he was talking about.

"You were in the military? You fought in the war?"

It was clear now that she was completely hooked into hearing what he had to say. So instead of answering right away, Derek shrugged and spent his time finishing his food, since he knew that he wouldn't get any peace. While he ate, he thought about what he would tell her. He definitely wasn't big on giving war stories. People didn't know whether to believe them or not most of the time anyway, because so much _stuff _had happened. So much stuff had happened that an ordinary person would never imagine possible. Guys getting blown into pieces by kids. Innocent people that go missing and are never heard from again. Derek finished up and wiped his mouth off with a napkin, and then took a sip of lemonade. He looked out the window at the cars passing by, wishing he was in one of them, on his way to California.

"I was in the Army. I pretty much fought until I got wounded not too long before it ended." This was something that he knew she wouldn't fully understand. Being in Delta Force, Derek had been in combat every single year while he was in the military. Even before the war. That was all they did - combat raids and missions and fighting. The Navy Seals were the same way. He'd already served for three and a half years before World War III broke out. Those years were spent doing missions almost non-stop. Every month was something different. By the time the war started, Derek had seen more action than most others in the military. Then he got wounded in the last stages of the war. Hasn't been in combat since.

"I bet you were good. I can tell. Were you scared? Did you shoot anybody?"

That's a question that everyone gets asked by anyone who's wondering. It's almost completely unavoidable. It's an almost guarantee that at least one person will ask you that if you served during any war time. 'Did you shoot someone? Did you kill anyone?' They're always eager to know if they're talking to a killer.

"I was pretty scared, yeah. Didn't know if I would live through the next hour or not. Yeah, it was scary."

Just then, the door to the diner opened up. It was a lady who looked to be about Derek's age, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, carrying a small briefcase with her. Her eyes scanned the inside, going from customer to customer, and then her eyes landed on Derek. She walked towards the table.

The waitress girl stood up to greet the new lady. She stepped right in front of her. "Hey, welcome to Joe's. You can find a seat anywhere. Can I get you anything?"

"No thanks, I'll be only a minute."

Without saying anything else, she walked around the waitress and headed straight for Derek. He was watching her closely. He'd never seen her before. He took a quick sip from his lemonade as the lady slid into the same chair that the waitress had just gotten out of. It was clear that the waitress didn't like that. She'd just been getting to the good part of Derek's war story, and now she couldn't finish hearing it. Derek didn't care either way. The new lady leaned forward and laid her small briefcase onto the table.

"Derek "Frost" Westbrook, right?"

Derek sat up straight in his seat and looked her in the eye.

"How did you find me?"

"It wasn't easy. We've been tracking you for months. We finally caught up to you." She said. Derek didn't like that. "That's not important. I came here to scoop you up. You're coming with me."

"Why in the hell would I do that?" Derek asked, a bit too loudly.

"Because of what's in this." She said, placing her hand on top of the briefcase.

Derek looked around the diner again. Several ceiling fans were spinning wildly, keeping the heat at bay. The other customers hadn't noticed what was going on, but the waitress was watching like an eagle. Cars were still driving by outside, and Derek still wished that he was inside one of them, heading somewhere. If only he'd gotten an earlier start - headed to California sooner. He wouldn't be sitting in this cheap diner, and he wouldn't be having this conversation.

Derek shook his head. She leaned closer to him from across the table, and lowered her voice.

"You don't understand what's at stake here."

Derek took one more look around the diner, and then took another sip of his lemonade and shrugged.

"Ohkay. You came here for a reason. I'll hear it."

* * *

The lady's name was Lauren. Derek could tell that she was military just by looking at her. She had the look. She was out of uniform, but Derek knew by default that she was high-up in the ranking. Had to be, if she knew about the name 'Frost'. Lauren must've done pretty good to get that high in such a short time. It wasn't impossible, but highly improbable. Her hair was short and black. Sort of buzz-cut. Derek liked that a bit. Made her look tough.

They'd just left the diner a few minutes ago and were riding inside of her car. _Finally inside one of these things. _The air conditioning was a welcome improvement over the cheap ceiling fans inside the diner. Derek had reclined the seat a tad bit, getting as comfortable as he could. He wasn't relaxed, though. Lauren still hadn't opened the briefcase and showed him what was so important.

"So why am I sitting here right now?" He asked her.

She stopped at a stop sign, checked both ways, and then made a left turn. She didn't answer his question right away.

"I've seen your service record." She said, glancing over at him briefly. "Even the parts that aren't supposed to be seen."

Derek was wondering just who Lauren was. She had to be very high, probably a General. He didn't know, so he shrugged. Lauren took another turn and then kept talking.

"You've done stuff all over the globe. Even Armenia. You did a few black operations for D-Sec, too, before you were put into Metal team. I'm very impressed. A perfect track record, including your solo job in Yemen, up until your last assignment to rescue Alena Vorshevsky." She waited for him to say something.

Derek shrugged once again. "Nothing special. Just doing what I was supposed to do."

"It _was _something special. You do know that you're one of the best soldiers this country has ever had, right? You're a part of a very small number of people to be counted in that." She said. "The Pentagon, and some key individuals, figured that you were far too valuable to be placed in the Task Force 141. That's why you were never assigned to it." She looked at him again, pulling into a red light.

"You know that General Thompson made his name big off of you? You never screwed up. And he took all the credit for what you did. Like I said, you were one of the best soldiers we've ever had. Probably _the _best, in some areas. That's why we need you back."

"There's no war going on right now. Just get someone else to do your dirty work."

"That's where you're wrong. There _is_ a war going on right now. And it's being waged against the entire world, by a single group. They've been hitting everybody where it hurts. We're lucky that the media hasn't caught wind of it yet."

"You mean to tell me that there's _another _Makarov out there?"

"This time it's far more than just one. It's a full-blown organization of powerful individuals who are coordinating an effective war against every major nation on the planet. Twenty nine Navy Seals got killed last week by them. A large chain of oil-rigs owned by China was taken down in less than 5 hours, a day before that. And before that, a trade route between Asia and South America got hit hard."

Again, Derek shrugged, even though Lauren's eyes were back on the road.

"Like I said, get someone else to do your dirty work. John Price is still alive, isn't he? Put him on the job."

"That's the thing, Derek. Every major country that's been hit is assigning up to two men to be put in an international task force. The best of the best of the best. Much better than the 141. It's going to be smaller and far more elite. John Price is the head of it."

Derek shrugged again and looked out the window. He respected John a lot, but it didn't change his mind. It was starting to get late. Street lights would be coming on soon.

"So you all hunt me down to get me into this group? I let my last team down. That's something you should know if you read my record. I'm done with fighting."

Lauren pulled the car into an empty parking lot outside of a dollar store. There wasn't much movement inside of it. Derek figured that nobody had time for dollar stores anymore. Or maybe there was something else going on that had their attention. He didn't know and didn't care, so he shrugged. The radio in the car wasn't playing, but Lauren turned the volume down anyway. Derek was starting to get a bit sleepy, and he was starting to get really annoyed by Lauren. He was considering leaving the car and not looking back. He looked over at her. She was watching him, reading something in his expression.

"You're right, Derek. You did your time in the military. In truth, we should go and look for someone else to fill in your place. But the reason why I'm sitting here is that we haven't forgotten what you did for America. You're our best hope. You're not in the military anymore, but America still needs it's warriors to protect her. If we don't stop this group, then we're looking at a global economic collapse. Probably worse than the Great Depression.

"So I'm giving you a choice, because I can't force you into this. You can open the door, walk away from the car, and we'll leave you alone."

Derek turned away from her and rolled down the window, watching the nearly-empty store, and shrugged. He ran calculations in his head. He considered possible outcomes, and improbable outcomes. He figured that in the end, he didn't give a damn. He didn't give a damn about any of it. But then Derek thought about his closest friend, Sandman. And then all the others that he'd fought alongside. He wondered what they would do if they were in his same position. Derek knew without a doubt what choice Sandman would make. He'd make the choice without hesitation.

But Derek wasn't Sandman.

He opened the door, stepped out of the car, and shut the door.

He shrugged. "Alright. Let me use the restroom first."


End file.
